


In Passing

by SisterMu



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: BDSM, Episode Related, F/M, Multi, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Sexual Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-24
Updated: 2010-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:51:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SisterMu/pseuds/SisterMu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hathor's journey from Mexico to Colorado.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Passing

**Author's Note:**

> Set around the Season 1 episode "Hathor". This is largely OC, there is very little SG-1 in this story.  
> Warnings : Rape, Non-con, sexual abuse, violence. More unpleasant than my other stories.
> 
> Great thanks to my wonderful beta, Gatesmasher. Any mistakes are the result of my inability to stop refining a word here, splitting sentences there...  
> Minor point : I know if there were hairstylists involved, Hathor would have had a better cut than she did, so just imagine that for me, please.

  
** The SGC, Five hours AH (After Hathor) **

The debriefing was awkward but everyone, even Jack, took refuge in pure professionalism; it got them through.

After a bland, almost sterile discussion of the recent past, they thankfully looked to the future. The General turned to Sam. "Do we have any idea what destination Hathor selected?"

"Yes, sir. So I suppose the question is, do we go after her or do we avoid that planet for a while?"

Teal'c stepped in. "She is currently alone and vulnerable. She will take time to gather troops. This would be a good time to pursue her and kill her before she grows in strength."

Daniel blanched at the cold-blooded statement. He was not used to such merciless pragmatism, hoped he never would be. His feelings toward Hathor were terribly violent, more than he had ever felt before. Still, if he fought her, even killed her, it would be in rage. Not just because he had simply decided it should happen. 

This wasn't a conversation he wanted to get into. His feelings were too ambivalent, too near the surface. Teal'c hated the Goa'uld too, but he was better at hiding his feelings than Daniel. Besides, Daniel wasn't done with the past. He said, "I think we have a more serious concern than where she's gone."

"Which is?" Asked Hammond.

"Where she's been. The sarcophagus was discovered in Mexico ten days before it and she arrived here. And she wasn't in it when she did arrive. While I wouldn't claim to be an expert on her behavior, I am sure she didn't  _walk_  all the way from Mexico. Where was she and how did she get here?"

There was silence as that sank in. Then Jack said, "Ah, crap."

\--------

 ** Mexico, Ten days BH (Before Hathor) **

As the screams stopped, Hathor raised her arms and stretched. What strange clothes these humans wore. A woman in loose, short trousers, and a man with a strange metal and glass structure on his face.

As she stood and stepped from the sarcophagus, she wondered idly how Ra was ruling the slaves now. Perhaps these were slaves of Yu. He had occasional strange desires to teach new ways to the beasts. Or were these some of Nirrti's experiments? Hathor had much to learn of the current state of the galaxy. 

She would find out everything of the System Lords and their dominions. Then she would amass her armies, crush Ra and have him grovel to be taken back as her husband. Before she disemboweled him.

She moved to the back of the chamber and sought the way down into the pyramid. Ah. The naquadah in the mechanism allowed her to locate and operate it. She entered the ring area and descended to the room far below. Her possessions were laid out on the altar. First she picked up her tablet. How long _precisely_  had she been imprisoned? She checked the date.

 ** _Five thousand years?!_**  

It was only meant to be five hundred! Ra had left her there to rot. Eventually. Had he found himself another queen? Some upstart worm who thought that reproducing gave her the right to choose a System Lord? She gritted her teeth. Sadly that was all too likely. Queens were rare and thus potent figures among the Goa'uld. She herself had gained power in this way. 

Well, the slut need not think she would retain her spoils. Hathor would rip her from her host bare-handed and stuff her down the throat of a mastadge. Then she would take Ra's armies and enjoy his long sufferings at her hands. Perhaps she would take Ba'al as her new consort and let him work on Ra. He was so  _inventive_  in his tortures.

She took the few other items from the altar. Her potions. Her cosmetics. Her priestess's ornaments. She placed them all in a shoulder bag, fuming that she had to carry it herself. Then she opened the passage that would carry her under the ground to the hidden exit some distance from the pyramid. 

As she entered the passage, dim lights lit the way. The tree roots that split the roof, muscling the stones aside, were a proof that she had indeed been locked away far beyond her time. Moreover, there had been no attendants here for much of that time. 

When she reached the hidden door, she gritted her teeth and spewed curses over her husband and all his obsequious minions. Then she braced her shoulder against the large stone block and shoved, jostled and sweated it out of the doorway. She climbed out into the evening sunlight fluttering through leaves. 

She inspected her outfit for damage. It was intact. Then she spotted her hands.  _ **AARGH!**  She had broken a  **nail**_. How could she appear before thousands of groveling worshippers like this? In a foul mood, Hathor set off back towards the pyramid.

\--------

Gerry Lindt was standing in the campsite, nervously watching the entrance to the pyramid. When they heard the screams, Andy had shouted, "Cave-in!" The others had dashed towards the pyramid, grabbing ropes and gear from the jeeps as they went. Gerry had run to the radio and called the local police to request back-up and medical aid. Now he was fidgeting, wanting to go and help but needing to stay near the radio to co-ordinate and guide.

"Is this a vehicle?"

Gerry spun round. A red-haired woman in a glittering outfit was looking at one of the jeeps.

"What?"

She turned to him. "We are Hathor, Goddess and Queen. Kneel before us."

Gerry blinked a couple of times and shook his head. "I'm sorry, you're who?"

The woman looked seriously pissed. " **We**  are  ** _Hathor_**. We are the Queen of the Gods, Goddess of Fertility, Delirium and Joy. The Sovereign of Womanhood and Most Beautiful of all Females."

Great. On top of everything else, a nutcase. "Right.  _We_ , and I'm using that in the plural sense rather than the royal one,  _we_  have an emergency situation here, so why don't you just sit in the jeep and  _we_ , again that's me and my colleagues, will take you back to the local town just as soon as  _we've_  seen to the safety of our friends."

The woman, still several feet away, thrust out her hand. Gerry flew backwards and landed on a tent. He lay, trying to breathe and to figure out what just happened. A pissed and imperious redhead appeared above him. She raised her hand and a red jewel glowed in her palm. Then it darkened. 

She lowered her hand. "No. We see by your trappings and by your ignorance that much has changed here while we have slept. Perhaps it is that Ra has left this world." Her voice softened. "You should not be punished for ignorance."

"I ... hope not. Though Professor Cadbury often disagrees."

"We will be merciful. Are you in pain?"

"Ah, a little."

"Then we shall ease it." Her voice carried a more seductive note. She knelt astride him, lowered her head and kissed him.

It was a soft, brief kiss then he felt her breath on his lips. He felt dizzy for a moment. A pulse of pleasure beat in him and settled in his groin. He looked up. She was standing over him again. She the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hair, her skin, her body. Her face was that of Helen and Nefertiti. More. She was a Goddess. An aura surrounded her, radiating from her and illuminating her. He felt clumsy and grubby in her presence. Her eyes flashed gold and her voice changed. "Kneel."

He scrambled to his knees. "Forgive me, Goddess. I didn't recognise you. I am your humble servant."

Good, thought Hathor, some things are still as they should be. "Rise," she said. "And conduct us to a place of luxury. We wish to be bathed and scented, to feast and to mate. Then we must learn more of this world."

Gerry was honored by her trust in him. He rose and gestured awkwardly to the Jeep. "Here, Goddess, it is a vehicle. To my shame, it's not a luxury vehicle and the roads are kinda bumpy. But I'll take you to Cancun. It's a luxury resort and we should be able to reach it by evening. I will spend everything I have to see you treated as you deserve."

Hathor was not impressed by bumpy roads. She wanted a teltak at least. Being treated as she deserved was better. With a push, this human was now offering the proper respect. He was also rather pleasing to the eye. He would do. For now.

Gerry helped the Goddess climb into the jeep, oh, such grace! Then he climbed in beside her and set off for Cancun. From the top of the pyramid, a couple of his friends shouted and waved as the jeep left. He never heard them.

At first, he had trouble keeping his eyes on the road but almost crashing into a tree put paid to that. He would ignore his own desires to keep his Goddess safe.

\--------

There were far too many humans. Moreover, they were enjoying standards of life and luxury far beyond their worth. There were no Goa'uld on this world, Hathor was certain. Such freedom, such scientific development could not be countenanced anywhere that true order prevailed.

A goddess is not impressed by the achievements of mortals so she bitched that the hotel didn't have enough gold and embellishment. She truly wasn't impressed by the clothing. Many women wore trousers! And far too many people displayed bodies that were not pleasing to the eye and showed a level of nourishment that slaves should not receive.

No one recognized her divinity.

There were no handmaidens to bathe her. 

BUT ... there were hot-tubs, jacuzzis, saunas, full-body aromatherapy and hot stone massages, manicures, pedicures, facials, mud wraps, salt scrubs, exfoliation, detox and hydration treatments, hair stylists, make-up consultations and colonic irrigation which, actually, she decided to skip. The range of cosmetics and perfumes these humans had developed was impressive. The trouble with being Goa'uld was that you didn't know how to develop these things yourself and, of course, you couldn't let the Jaffa or human slaves have access to laboratories.

But Hathor's favourite discovery was tampons. Oh yes! And sanitary towels. The drawback to taking female hosts had always been the human menstrual cycle, which could not be suppressed or healed since it wasn't an error. She had sometimes passed the time shut up in the sarcophagus, where at least she wasn't conscious and she arose feeling empowered. 

However, when you are Queen of the Gods, you can't always disappear one week in four. Usually, she took drugs. A combination of painkillers and narcotics would help. Then she spent her time directing sexual scenes, making up decrees for her worlds, and executing prisoners. 

Still, the female cycle was not fun and always messy. For all their vaunted power, Goa'uld females still had to make do with the same cloth pads that their human slaves used. Hathor decided that she would make this planet her new base and while she would have to destroy most of the developed civilisation, some few advancements could be retained.

Hathor spent 48 hours relaxing and being pampered before she was ready to take further stock of her situation. Now she sat in a high-backed armchair. It was not as grand as a throne but it was a lot more comfortable. When she owned this world, she would have one made with gold chain and jewels. Gerry knelt before her. Hathor began to question him.

"Tell us of this world. Who rules here?"

"Here in Mexico?"

"What is Mexico?"

"This country."

"You speak in riddles. What is a country?"

"Forgive me, my queen. The world is divided up into countries, about two hundred of them, areas of land that have different rulers, laws and customs. Some are big, some are small. This country is called Mexico and is ruled by President Zedillo."

"Is it the largest country, the most powerful?"

"No. The size of a country doesn't necessarily dictate its power. That is decided by wealth and technology."

"It is always so. Which is the most powerful country?"

"Right now, the USA. That is, the United States of America. It has great wealth, the best technology and the biggest armies. The ruler is President Byrnes, of the Democratic Party."

"What is a Democratic Party? Both words are unknown to us."

"Ah, well, democracy is a system of government based on rule by the people. It comes from the Greek 'demos' meaning 'the people' and 'kratia' meaning 'power'."

"What people?"

"All people. Well, all people of that country. Theoretically."

"The people rule?"

"Yes. Not day to day. They vote ..."

"Vote?"

"Choose. Everyone says who they want to be ruled by and the person who has the most votes is put in charge. Given the rule. Made President. Though the actual system is a lot less representative than that makes out because..."

Hathor came out of a stunned silence. "The people  _choose_  who they will be ruled by?"

"Yes."

"It is not decided by force of arms?"

"No."

"Or treachery?"

"We-e-ell, not precisely  _treachery_ , per se. We call it 'politics'. Then after four years we choose again. Sometimes it's the same person and sometimes..."

"Four years?"

"Yes.

"A mere four years?"

"I'm getting a sense that you don't entirely approve of this system."

"It is madness!" Hathor got up to pace. "It ... We cannot conceive how such a thing could come to pass! Where is Ra?"

"Ra?"

"The God Ra, God of the Sun, King of the Gods, Greatest of the System Lords."

"Of course, he was your, he was ... your..." Gerry's brain began to short circuit. Hathor was, of course, his Goddess but not actually, literally  _a_  goddess.

"He is our husband and brother."

"I...er, I don't know, exactly where he is. Um..." Gerry's mind was not at it's sharpest, dulled as it was by nishta and sex, but he vaguely suspected that any comments on mythology and anthropomorphic symbolism would be unpopular.

Hathor's voice cut through his thoughts. "Where is the Chappa'ai?"

"The ... Sharper Eye?" He said, gesturing vaguely towards his own.

Hathor dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Go. Obtain a meal for us and more of that excellent wine. Do not return for at least two watches." Gerry understood this to be hours. Hathor sat again on her quasi-throne and made sure she was comfortable. "We must meditate."

Gerry quietly left the room. Hathor began to concentrate, reaching inward and outward for naquadah, that in her blood calling for that in the Chappa'ai.

\--------

It didn't take her long to locate it. There were tiny caches of naquadah scattered around the planet. The Tau'ri had not advanced so far that it was in common use on their world. However, it  _was_  in use. Specifically, the Chappa-ai was in use. Hmm. 

There was no sign of Goa'uld presence on this world. The humans had advanced technologically but perhaps ... perhaps they were just on the brink. Just about to develop the technologies for galactic travel and energy weapons. Just advanced enough to power the Chappa'ai. Had they only recently started using it? Or  _had_  they the weaponry to ... ? 

No. It was unthinkable that they should have the weaponry to defeat the Goa'uld. Besides, if they had been using the Chappa'ai for long, they would have better technologies integrated into their world, more naquadah. She was almost sure this was the case. Almost.

She shifted uncomfortably. Then again, when she first woke, she believed she would find Ra still in dominion. Even when she realised how much time had passed, she never imagined  _this_. She had too many questions. There was only one thing of which she could be sure - whoever was using the Chappa'ai, they could give her answers.

\--------

Gerry returned in the company of manservants with food. Once the servants had left and Hathor had eased the edge of her hunger, she began to feed tidbits to Gerry where he knelt in front of her. "What ... country ... lies to the North of here?"

"Two countries, my queen, the United States of America and Canada."

"This United States is the one you spoke of, the most powerful?"

"Yes."

"Then that is where we must travel. The place we seek is some thousand miles to the north and west." She flashed her eyes and deepened her voice. "We will not travel in that bone-jarring vehicle you used to bring us here."

"No, no, my queen, of course not. That was merely a temporary measure. From here we can fly to an airport near where you want to be and take a ... a more luxurious car on better roads, to your final destination."

Hathor sat back and smiled. "Excellent. Tomorrow you will find us a ship in which to fly to our destination. Now wash yourself and prepare to pleasure us."

\--------

 ** Northwestern University, Two days AH **

The young man sat miserably in his room. He felt humiliated and awkward in his own skin. Colonel O'Neill and Doctor Jackson had been kind to him and let him gloss over certain ... events. They were more interested in what the woman had said, and their journey. 

Gerry was still confused, though, and burst out, "I don't know why I did it! I mean, at the time, it all seemed obvious. I thought I wanted..." He looked away. "Now I just..."

Doctor Jackson knelt by him but didn't touch him, for which Gerry was grateful. "She used a drug," Jackson said gently, "that altered your perception and made you ... more amenable."

"Like ... Rohypnol?"

Colonel O'Neill was sitting backwards on a chair a few feet in front of Gerry. "Kinda. Mixed with something like Pentothal and some sort of aphrodisiac." He cleared his throat and they all looked in different directions. "It's dirty stuff but it does no long term harm. Physically. You, um, probably want to see a counsellor."

"No, I just..."

"I know it's not easy," said Jackson. " _I know._ "

Gerry looked at him and saw the truth of that in his eyes. It made him feel less alone.

Jackson continued, "That's why I'm telling you to see someone. Find someone who can help. It's worth doing."

Gerry nodded. "Thanks," he whispered.

"So," said O'Neill, "she wanted you to bring her into the US. She wouldn't have had a passport, so what happened?"

Gerry blushed, "Um. I am going to get in trouble for this?"

"You? None."

"You see, it wasn't exactly legal."

\--------

 ** Cancun, Seven days BH **

Taking the word 'fly' as the critical one, Gerry decided to go to the local airport first. If it then turned out that he should have taken 'ship' as the important word, he could check out the port. 

The airport was a small affair. Gerry got information about the airlines that flew out of it. All scheduled small craft only, with no first class service. This was bad. He felt it unlikely that his goddess would want to travel coach. 

There were also some private aircraft for hire. The affordable ones were cargo planes, even less comfortable than the commercial airlines. There were a couple of private jets whose amenities should do. Except...

He was beginning to suffer from a creeping worry about his cash flow. Actually, he was sure it was about to fail. And that meant he would fail his goddess. He would have to ask his parents to transfer him some money. They couldn't really afford it, though. Which meant he couldn't afford to transport his goddess in proper style.

Nevertheless, he snuck onto the tarmac and went to peer into the hangars. Upon inspection, the aeroplanes that he vaguely recognised from television as cargo planes were as uncomfortable as he thought. Coach would be preferable. Perhaps if they got on a flight with fewer passengers...?

Of course, the other trouble was direction. A commercial flight wouldn't likely go direct to the location. As far as Gerry could tell from quick work with the hotel atlas and a ruler, this was somewhere in Colorado. They'd have to change planes. Not impossible, of course. Dissatisfying, though. He wanted to take his queen straight there. That would require chartering a plane. Back to the money problem.

These thoughts were interrupted by an argument from deeper in the hangar. Gerry's Spanish was improving - his decision to specialise in Central American archaeology required it - but this was very colloquial. He peered under a fuselage and saw a man and woman arguing. 

The woman had her back to him - all he could see was thick dark hair and a flight suit, showing the slight contours of a shapely bottom and waist. Her stance was spread - she was not backing down, despite the man's attempts to physically dominate her. The man was a head taller and solidly built. He had dark, regular features but his sneer made him look arrogant and petulant.

The argument seemed to be about the woman not doing what the man wanted her to do. No surprise there. It didn't seem all sexual, though. He was sure he caught references to flying and the border. That word was  _Americanos_ , so, something about transporting Americans? 

The man grabbed the woman's breast and she kicked him in the kneecap. He fell on his backside and spotted Gerry. His face twisted. He spoke in Spanish. "Hey, who are you?"

The woman spun and squatted. She was beautiful, Hispanic, late twenties, and her expression said she would happily kick him too.

Gerry decided that this was a good time to be loud and ignorant. "Say," he said in English, "can you folks tell me where to find the seaplanes? I'M ... LOOKING ... FOR ... THE ... SEA ... PLANES. Do you speak ENGLISH?"

Their expressions relaxed into contempt and the man rolled his eyes. The woman said, "They're ... on ... the ... sea. They can't land on land. SEA - PLANES. For sea. Do  _you_  speak English?"

"Oh right." He decided to push his luck. "I'm looking for something a little different. Something luxurious."

"Sea planes  _aren't_  luxurious." She crawled under the fuselage and they stood up together. "You want a Learjet Forty-Five or a Dassault Falcon."

"Right. Are there any of those that fly out of here?"

The woman patted the plane next to her. "This is a Lear. Available for hire to any destination within two thousand miles. It's mine. I'm the pilot, Domenica Valdez." She held out her hand. Gerry shook it.

The man had wandered round the nose to them. "You're a pilot, yes, but the plane isn't yours."

The woman didn't take her eyes off Gerry but her jaw tightened a bit. "Shut up, Ettore. It's mine."

"How much for a flight to ... the USA?" He remembered at the last moment that he had originally asked about seaplanes and Colorado wasn't known for it's bracing sea air.

"Between eight and twelve thousand dollars. The US is a big place. Alaska and Hawaii are out, by the way."

Gerry felt he hid his consternation at the price rather well. He tried a smile. "I'll consult with my client and get back to you." He waved his leaflets vaguely and walked away.

\--------

Hathor sat on her throne. Gerry knelt before her. "Have you found a ship to bear us to the Chappa'ai?"

"Um."

Hathor had learned to be wary of this word.

"I've found a number of possibilities. There are a couple of airlines that fly North. Um. Those would be our best bet."

Hathor frowned. She hated knowing so little about this world. "What are 'airlines'?"

"Um. A group of people who fly other people in aircraft, um, that is, in ships, to different places. For money."

"Money is the thing you told us of, the symbol of one's labour."

"Yes."

Hathor thought for a moment. "They take 'people'. Any people?"

"Who can pay."

"You will pay."

"Um."

"That is no difficulty. Instruct one of these 'airlines' to have a ship ready to bear us to the Chappa'ai."

"Um. Th...they set the time to leave. They go at regular intervals." He reached a timetable out of his pocket, mainly to avoid looking at his goddess. "There's one in two days time, leaving at 9 a.m. that will take us to Houston. From there we can catch another plane, um, ship to Denver and then we'll have to try to work out ... where ... exactly..." Not looking wasn't helping. He could feel her anger. A hand with inhuman strength grasped his chin and raised his face.

Hathor's eyes flashed and her voice echoed. "Are you saying that these people do not respond to command?"

"No. I mean, yes. I mean, they don't respond to command. See, they have a lot of people to transport on each plane and ..." Gerry hit the wall before he knew he was flying. A terrible pain burst in his head and he writhed before curling into a ball to escape. For a moment the pain transferred to his arm where he was protecting his forehead. Then it was gone. He lay panting, waiting to be commanded.

He heard heavy breathing then silence. After a minute Hathor said, "Crawl to our feet and kiss them. Beg for our forgiveness."

Gerry did as he was told.

"You will find transport for  **us _alone_**. It will be luxurious."

"There, there was one possibility, my queen. A woman pilot who owns a ... ship. She would fly on your command. It would be luxurious. Um."

"Then  _why_  did you not tell us of this woman first?"

"Um." He didn't want to say it, but he couldn't not. "I can't afford it," he murmured in shame, "I don't have enough money." He felt desolate, he was failing his queen, his goddess.

"You have not performed enough labor."

"I ... it ..." This was not really the moment for a discourse on economics, academics and the struggles between the two.

"You have failed us."

There was no answer.

"A woman, you say?"

"Yes."

"A woman pilot? A woman doing the work of a man?"

"Um," probably not time for a discourse on changing gender roles either, "there's not so much division between male and female roles these days."

"A woman. A strong woman. This could be turned to our advantage. Take us to her."

\--------

 ** Cancun, Six days BH **

Domenica Valdez was in the airport office, logging her recent flight to southern Mexico and back. A hand slithered up her bottom and she instinctively kicked backwards. Ettore Hernandez laughed and caught her fist as she spun. "Have to do better than that, Babe."

"How's this?" She stamped on his toe.

He grunted and slowly crushed her fist. She gritted her teeth and tried not to groan.

Suddenly Ettore arched and screamed. He fell to his knees and writhed on the floor. Domenica stepped back in horror then looked up. A tall woman, with long red hair and too much make-up, had her hand thrust towards Ettore. A red laser was aimed at his head, seeming to be the cause of his agony.

The woman let her hand drop. She walked towards Domenica, stepping over Ettore's unconscious body. Domenica backed against the desk and picked up a stapler. She held it ready to hit the woman and said, "Stay back."

The woman smiled. "We like to see such spirit in women. And such beauty." She reached up her hand to Domenica's cheek. Domenica swung her stapler. It was knocked away by a snake-fast movement. She cradled her hand while the woman caressed her cheek and arranged her hair.

"Who are you?" Asked the pilot.

"We are Hathor. We are the Queen of the Gods, Goddess of Fertility, Delirium and Joy. We will fulfill all your dreams and wishes. You have only to obey our every command." She stepped away, turning towards the door.

Domenica noticed a man in the doorway. He was the American idiot from the day before. He looked at her and Ettore with concern. Then he looked towards the crazy woman. His expression changed to adulation and fear. Domenica couldn't find the words, she had never seen such a look before. 

Except. A memory rose from a long time ago, back when she bothered to go to church. She remembered the face of a devout young man, transported by a rush of awe as he felt the spirit move him and a sudden ray of light hit the statue of the Mother of God. The face of a true worshipper.

Domenica felt her heart sink. Two nutcases. One fiendishly strong and cruelly armed, the other blocking the exit. There was no good way out of this. She would do what she had always done and fight her way through it.

"What do you want?" She asked.

"Your services."

"And what do you think those are?"

Ettore stirred and groaned. He lolled, his limbs flopping and twitching. Then he gripped his head and groaned more loudly. The crazy woman approached him. She looked at Domenica.

"You have seen our power to hurt. Now witness our power to control, which we will share with you."

Ettore looked up with blood-shot eyes. "Who the hell are you? What happened? My head..."

The woman knelt beside him. Domenica was afraid for him, but it was him or her. She stayed quiet and where she was. The woman pulled Ettore's head towards herself and kissed him. Red hair swung forward to hide them in false modesty. 

When the woman pulled back and stood, Ettore looked dazed. Then he focused on her and his expression was wonder and devotion. A new worshipper, thought Domenica. How, though? Ettore's attitude to women was lousy.

The pilot looked at the woman who was smiling slightly, enjoying her power. "We are Hathor. We are the Queen of the Gods, Goddess of Fertility, Delirium and Joy. You are ours to command."

Ettore struggled to his knees. "Highness, you do me great honour."

"We know. Now you will come with us." She looked up at Domenica. "If you wish to share in this power, you will come as well."

She walked away without looking back. The two men followed her, the American standing close and casting jealous glances at Ettore. Ettore was fully focused on the woman. He stumbled on the step outside but caught himself without looking away.

Such power. And it could be shared. The curve of a smile caught Domenica's mouth and she followed them.

\--------

Hathor was pleased. The men kneeling before her were comely and naked. The next few days promised to be most enjoyable. 

She was aware of the woman standing in the shadows. Domenica (such strange names these new humans had) was a beautiful woman, as befitted Hathor's new High Priestess. Just as important, she was strong-willed and fascinated by power. She still seemed a little unsure, though. Time for a demonstration of how much power Hathor could offer her, and how to enjoy it.

"Come, Domenica, stand by us."

The woman moved slowly to her side.

"Do you find these men appealing?"

"Yes."

Hathor shot her a dirty look.

"M-My queen. They are handsome."

"They are." Hathor used a foot to raise Gerry's head and then Ettore's. She addressed them, "You are my slaves."

They spoke together. "Yes, my queen."

"You will obey our priestess Domenica as though she spoke with our voice."

"Yes, my queen."

Hathor sat back. "So, our priestess, how shall we have them please us?"

\--------

 ** Northwestern University, Two days AH **

"Can I get some water?" Asked Gerry.

"Sure, of course," said Jackson. "Do you want me to ...?"

"No, it's fine. I'll, um, ..." He got up and went to his sink. "Do you guys want anything? I have glasses and, um, some juice, Red Bull. Um."

"No. Thanks," said O'Neill.

"Water, please," said Jackson.

Gerry wiped a couple of glasses and filled them from the tap. He handed one to Jackson, both men careful not to touch. Then he sat down.

"So what happened then?" Asked O'Neill. The colonel was gentle and Gerry was grateful. He didn't think of military guys being gentle. He was glad O'Neill wasn't a badass.

He took a deep breath. "We went back to the room. And she ... Hathor ... she said she would give Domenica a demonstration. Of her power. She ... She ... Can we skip ...?, I don't..."

The two men looked at each other. Jackson tilted his head. O'Neill shook his sadly. "We need you to give us an outline," said O'Neill. "Because of Valdez. We need to know what ... drugs or tech might have got passed on."

"Right." Gerry took a swig of his water then put the glass on the floor. He wiped his palms on his thighs and looked down to the side.

"Are you sure you don't want anyone else here?"

"No! No."

"There's nowhere you'd be more comfortable?"

"No. If this is OK with you."

"This is fine. You're the one that matters here."

Gerry licked his lips. "OK, well." He took a deep breath and barrelled through it. "We stripped and knelt before her. The man and me. And she called Domenica to stand beside her. Told us that they were our mistresses now. And basically we did whatever they said. Pleasing them, foreplay stuff. At first.

"Hathor wanted, I think she wanted Valdez to be in charge. Like getting a taste of power. She, Hathor, only gave us orders if we didn't obey Valdez instantly, the way we would her. Hathor, I mean. And sometimes she one-upped her, sort of to spur her on. But mostly she was letting her, Domenica, take command which, you know, is not really normal for Ha..Hathor."

He paused, wanting to scratch at his skin. He knuckled his eyes, instead. "Ah. Um."

Jackson's gentle voice came. "You're doing great. Thank you. You're being so strong and you're helping us hugely."

"Right. Um." He met their eyes fiercely. "I want you to catch them. I want... I want you to punish them. You will, won't you?"

"We will," said O'Neill, and Jackson nodded solemnly.

"And you'll tell me? I mean, I know you can't give me details, but you could send me a message. A short message. Just so I know."

"We will."

"Right. Well." He looked away again. Almost over. "Not much more to tell. Um." Another deep breath. "They got onto bondage and, you know, already had the domination thing going and there was S&M." He shivered. "Except I don't think the M thing applies 'cause I didn't get off on that. It was just because she wanted me to, I let them because she ... wanted ..." 

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and shook his head. "Why? Why did I ...? When I think ... back ... . That's the worst thing. I let them. I'm strong. Why did I ... let ... ?"

"It was the drug," said Jackson softy. "It is a terrible thing."

Gerry looked up. Jackson was staring at his hands and O'Neill was looking at his colleague, worried and helpless. Gerry remembered Jackson's earlier words,  _I know._  He nodded and let out a long breath.

"And then when they were done. When they had all they wanted, they went into another room." He met their eyes again. "I don't know what they said. I'm sorry, that's the important thing, isn't it? And I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Please don't." Jackson was kind and sounded distressed. "You've been so strong and you've told us a lot."

"I wish I could tell you more. I want to help you find them. But that was it for the next three days. Sleep, eat, ... be used. And then they would go and I would sleep again. Or think of her. 

"Whenever my thoughts started to clear, they gave me more of the drug, though I have no idea how. And after a while, it seemed as if Valdez had some of the same power as Hathor. Just a little of it. Enough to make her ... special. I don't know."

"Then one day, she ... Hathor ... said goodbye. She said she had to go to the Sharper Eye and she would think well of me. It hurt so much, that she would leave me. I begged her..." He took a shuddering breath. "I actually begged her not to ... I should have been ... God."

He sniffed hard. "And then they all left. And I cried my eyes out. For everything. And then I left because I couldn't pay the hotel bill. I wandered in the streets for a long time. Eventually the police got me and called the consulate. I was in a real state and my friends had been searching for me. So the consulate helped me and shipped me back here. That was that."

\--------

 ** Somewhere in the US, One Hour BH  **

Domenica watched Hathor get into the cab and drive off. She had no idea what would happen to the 'goddess'. She rather hoped she died.

She got back into her plane, radioed the tower of the little local airfield and got permission to take off again. As she flew, she thought of her last meeting with the woman who had changed her life.

"You will restart our cult. When we contact you again, we wish to have thousands of followers. Announce our greatness and glory to the world. Offer rich rewards to those who will serve us and endless pain to those who refuse. 

"The gods are returning to your world. The ascendancy of humanity is at an end. Your people will kneel before us. But you will be our High Priestess and our glory will reflect upon you, the moon to our sun. You will be raised above all humans and honored as a queen, chief servant to the Greatest Queen of all: Hathor."

Nutcase.

Domenica had learned, though, that acquiescence and flattery were all she could offer. "Yes, your magnificence." And cool titles.

Hathor had smiled and left.

She had left Ettore behind too. He was asleep. Domenica wasn't sure whether to dump him in the first town across the border, or ... to keep him. She glanced at large bag Hathor had left with her. It contained her 'official regalia', which ought to be donated to a fancy dress store. 

It also held many bottles, pouches, boxes and a couple of strange devices. The devices had been summarily demonstrated. Hathor had cared more about the drugs and the potions. She spent hours describing how to use them individually or combined, how to kill, to cure, to control, to craze. How to make men libidinous and unmindful of anything else. How to make them worshipful, how to turn even the worst-spirited, pig-brained man into a delightful pet. She thought of Ettore's colleagues in the smuggling trade. They had always treated her foully. A smile curled her lips.

As she flew south, one thing nagged at her. There were two powerful women among the smugglers. They might not like their male colleagues suddenly being at Domenica's beck and call. Could these potions, she wondered, be adapted to work on women too?

\--------

 ** The SGC, Zero Hour  **

Hathor stood at the entrance to the cave. The Chappa'ai lay within, her old friend calling out to her. There were many men guarding the entrance and the pilot of that yellow vehicle (NOT luxurious, she fumed) had said there would be many more inside.

Hathor smiled. Trained warriors of the most powerful nation, ready to obey her every command. She could easily make them Jaffa, a new Jaffa army, all hers, with weapons perhaps greater than the armies of her enemies. The technology of this planet, soon to be hers, would help her become the new Empress of the Gods. She shivered with delight.

A mountain full of men, soon to be her slaves. She never thought there would be women.

\--------

 ** The SGC, Three days AH **

Jack and Daniel gave their report. General Hammond nodded. "And how is the young man?" He asked.

"Not good, sir, but I think Daniel persuaded him to see a therapist so we can hope he'll get better. He's also flat broke. I suggested there might ... Well, I said we'd see him right, sir, meaning me and Daniel, of course."

Daniel nodded.

General Hammond said, "I think the government might be able to help out there. It's about the only way we can, poor boy."

"Thank you, sir. Other than that, there's nothing more we can do. Except get the bitches. I said we'd do that too."

"He accepted the story about Hathor being a terrorist."

"Without question, sir.

General Hammond nodded. "Colonel Winters found the cab driver who bought her here," he said. "He picked her up at a small airfield near Denver. As they drove, she would point the way she wanted to go, towards the Stargate, as we know, and he would find the next road in that direction."

"Will he be a problem, sir?" 

"No. He was mainly angry at losing out on such a big fare. Unaccountably," said Hammond dryly, "he forgot to ask her to pay. We paid him and told him to keep quiet for national security. He accepted that and seemed uninterested in anything else."

"Good."

"So that's about it. As of now, there's nothing more we can do."

"Chase Hathor, sir?"

"I sent a female team to the planet she escaped to. There was no sign of her, no way of knowing where she went after that. We'll just have to wait for her next move."

"Great. And Valdez?"

"The NID will cover that."

"Sir!"

"No, Colonel. We haven't the knowledge, the structure or the authority to search for her. This is Colonel Maybourne's business now. Ours is to guard the 'Gate. And on that subject, your next mission briefing will be on Friday at 1500 hours. Dismissed."

\--------

 ** Epilogue, Mexico City, Two Months AH **

Domenica wore a pale grey suit, black leather gloves, and a jeweled snake torc nestled around her neck, its head lying at the top of her breast. She left a plush air-conditioned office in Mexico City, her attendants before and behind her. As they crossed the lobby, Ettore and Paulo swept the double doors open for her. She strode through into the sun, four men following. Ettore and Paulo came last, letting the doors fall closed, while Benito rushed ahead to open the door to the limousine.

Domenica took her place inside. She smoothed down her suit, while the men piled inside. The car drove off as soon as all the doors were closed.

"How long will we have before the meeting?" She asked Alberto. 

"Two hours, my lady. It should be enough time to get the lay of the land without letting them get a drop on us."

"Are they likely to try?"

"They'll hear us out first. They might intend to attack us afterwards but," he paused and looked intently at her, "that's because they haven't yet seen your power and majesty."

Domenica smiled her praise at him, then looked out of the tinted window. So to America, land of riches. The party scene in Miami would be her first stop, just in time for 'Spring Break'. It would be the perfect time to introduce the young, rich Americanos to some new party drugs, and initiate them to the cult of Hathor.

To her relief, she had not heard from Hathor, but at this time she wasn't about to take chances. If Hathor returned, she would find worshippers. And if not, then the power, and the wealth, would be Domenica's own. Hathor's name would merely be a false trail for the police. If one were needed. It wasn't as though these drugs were illegal.

She felt a finger brush the side of her thigh. All the air conditioning in the world couldn't cool the sexual heat in the limo. They were her devoted slaves, would wait until the end of time if she refused them her favors, but still they desired her.

The finger brushed again, slower. She couldn't let them take liberties. At her thought, the snake around her neck reared and hissed at the man next to her. It bit the air and she felt him pull away swiftly.

"I'm s-sorry, my lady."

She looked at him. It was Benito. He did look contrite and he hadn't asked her to forgive him; he knew that was for her to decide, not for him to hope. She smiled at him and his eyes went wide, filled with adoration. She stroked a leather-clad finger down his cheek and cupped his chin.

"Wait until the plane, cariño. I'll punish you, then you can make it up to me." She looked around the other men. "I'll reward you all for your good work." The expressions on their faces were all different. All worshipful, all lustful, but underneath their true natures showed through: some weak, some greedy, some dark or predatory, hard or vile, some simple or submissive, and Benito, strangely, was kind. How had he got caught up with such men?

Yet all these traits were constrained to her will. Soon wealth and power would be hers. With all men at her command, and most women susceptible, one way or another, who cold possibly prevent the priestess of Hathor taking whatever she would choose?

\----------------

Finis

\----------------

**Author's Note:**

> Confession time. I have no intention of writing a sequel.
> 
> The sequel, either called 'Priestess of Hathor' or 'Sex, Drugs and Rock'n'Roll', should be primarily based somewhere there is a strong party scene and lots of recreational drugs. However, I have no interest in writing it, and I don't think I could. I've never been on the party scene. Or, for that matter, been drunk or taken drugs. Yes, I know, my friends have said that too. I've just never seen the point.
> 
> I invite anyone who would like to write a sequel to do so. You can use the following sketchy ideas, or come up with your own.
> 
> Domenica is building a cult of Hathor. It is NOT like Seth's, all locked away and quasi-religious, but more widespread and based on using drugs to enhance physical pleasures, control people and persuade them to idolise her, i.e. Domenica. And, incidentally, she is making a shedload of money. The cult is only nominally for Hathor, actually for Domenica herself. Think evil female Hugh Hefner selling aphrodisiac, controlling, party drugs. Possibly there should be other priestesses. There should definitely be a chemist.
> 
> I think she may run up against : some organised crime bosses who don't like her stealing their business, possibly Seth, the NID, and definitely SG-1 who will triumphantly defeat her. \o/


End file.
